


Holiday Spirit

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Confession, Explicit Sexual Content, Gifts, Love, M/M, Pining, time apart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-03 23:17:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17293274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: When Sherlock’s called away at Christmas, the time apart shines a light on what makes them different.





	1. Family Obligations

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got quite a few stories, and we invite you to get lost in them. **To keep up with our new stories, please subscribe.**
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and for being a great community!

_I don't know where you are but come home. Mycroft is here. -JW_

John looked over at Mycroft, still standing having refused John’s offer of a chair. "I can give him a message, if you want."

Mycroft glanced over. "I'm sure he won't be long."

_Come make him leave. -JW_

Sherlock put his phone in his pocket and pulled out a cigarette instead. If John was going to ruin his afternoon like this, he was going to pay him back by coming home stinking of tobacco. Once he’d finished it, he threw the butt on the street before unlocking the flat door and heading up to the flat, pushing open the door and bracing himself.

John stood up but Mycroft moved in front of him.

"Finally. Get your things, you're expected at Mother's."

“Expected by whom?” Sherlock said, hanging up his coat. “And for what reason?”

"It’s Christmas," Mycroft said. "Get your things."

“It is not,” Sherlock said. “It’s the 22nd of December. I believe that Christmas is three days away.” He glanced over at John for confirmation and also, if he were honest, some help.

“She wants you there -- now," Mycroft said. "I'll be waiting in the car."

John watched Sherlock as Mycroft left the flat. "Well, you got him to leave at least," he said, smiling. 

“Why didn’t you tell him no?” Sherlock asked John.

"I didn't know what he wanted -- he wouldn't tell me. But I don't see what the big deal is, it’s Christmas, you know, family time," he said.

Sherlock looked over at John. That was surprising. He’d been expecting John to want them to do something for Christmas together. Sherlock thought he was getting used to John’s sentimentality, but it appears he was wrong about this one. “Mycroft,” Sherlock said instead. “Mycroft is always the big deal.”

"It's nice that your mum wants you home for Christmas," he said. 

“Is it?” Sherlock threw the question into the air. Then he looked at John suspiciously. “Was this all your idea -- a way to get rid of me for a while?” he asked. “I thought we had worked out our differences after the heads-in-the-fridge incident?” 

John laughed softly. "No, Sherlock. I would never do such a thing. I'm the good flatmate, remember?" 

Sherlock stopped. “So I’m the bad flat mate? Is that what you tell people?” he asked. He gave John his pouting face and then stopped, remembering that John had once said it would never work on him.

"I don't tell people that. I was just teasing," he said. "You should go pack. He said he's waiting for you."

“I don’t care if he’s waiting for me,” Sherlock said, as he headed to his room. He put threw some clothes into his bag, but spent a little more time choosing some reading to take with him. Then he remembered what he had hidden: John’s Christmas present. They hadn’t talked about exchanging gifts and Sherlock hadn’t intended to encourage it -- holidays really had no meaning to him -- but he’d had an idea and so he’d bought it, just in case. He put the gift back into his drawer and left the room.

“Will you . . . be all right?” he asked John, though the question seemed stupid coming out of his mouth.

John was settled into his chair again, reading. "Hmm? I'll be okay. Are you all set?" 

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “I’ll be fine.” He grabbed a few things from his desk and then moved to the door. “Well, goodbye, then,” he said, glancing around. “Don’t destroy anything while I’m away.”


	2. On Their Own

John walked over to the window and looked down at Sherlock as he got into the car. He watched until it pulled away from the kerb and disappeared. He turned back and looked at the flat -- it was oddly quiet. He'd been in the flat alone before but only for a few hours. Something about knowing Sherlock was legitimately away made the place seem even quieter than usual. He shook his head and moved to the sofa. Perhaps it’d be nice being on his own for awhile

He turned on the telly and lay on the sofa, spreading out over the whole thing with a happy sigh. He looked around the flat for a moment. Fighting a small smile and steepled his fingers over his chest like Sherlock always did. He started to smile in earnest when he heard the door push open. He jumped up and leaned against the back of the sofa as if he'd been sitting normally the whole time. Mrs. Hudson was standing there, looking at him suspiciously.

"So he really left? I really didn't think he would, but then when his mother is involved . . . well, he doesn't like to upset her."

John nodded, trying to imagine Sherlock's parents and what this holiday might be like. "I think he will be okay. I don't know about Mycroft though."

Mrs. Hudson smiled. "He can handle it -- he runs a whole country, after all."

"Yes, but this is Sherlock we're talking about," John smiled.

She sighed and nodded. "True. I hope his mother isn't too fond of her walls . . ." She looked at the bullet hole smiley face on the wall. "Hmm. Well, I just came up to tell you if you need anything just let me know."

John laughed. "You say that like Sherlock took care of me and now I'll be lost," he said.

"Well, I know he wasn't feeding you or anything, but he took care of you in his own way. And mind you I'll be keeping an eye on the traffic through here," she added.

"Traffic?" John asked confused. "I won't have clients over, if that's what you mean. I couldn't solve a case alone."

"I don’t mean cases . . . just because Sherlock is out of town doesn't mean you can . . . explore your freedom," she said, giving him a stern look.

"What? Oh, for God's sake. How many times do I have to tell you we're not together?" John asked.

She gave him a disbelieving look before leaving, shutting the door behind her. John sighed loudly and rolled his eyes, leaning back again and flipping through channels for something to pass the time with.

____________________________________

“Sherlock!” Mrs Holmes said, moving over and giving him a hug. “I’m so happy to have my boys here!”

“I’m unable to stay,” Mycroft said, glancing at his brother.

“What a shame,” Sherlock said sarcastically. “And what a surprise.”

“You’ll be back for Christmas day, though,” Mrs Holmes said, a statement rather than a question.

“Yes,” Mycroft said. “I’ll try.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I’ll be in my room,” he said, grabbing his bag and disappearing up the stairs. He dropped his bag on the bed and then moved it to the floor, lying down and staring up at the ceiling. Like he’d done so many times before. Already he felt like a child again. He hated this feeling. He also knew it was ridiculous really -- he wasn’t a child, but an adult. He got out his phone and typed a text to John.

_We’ve arrived. SH_

He stared at it for a moment, but then hit Delete. There was no need to send it.

It wasn’t long until he heard a soft tap on his door.

“Come in, Mum,” he said, sitting up.

She was carrying a cup of tea. “Here, you go,” she said, handing it to him. “Can I sit down?”

Sherlock nodded and took a sip of tea. “Thanks,” he said. “He gone?”

“Yes,” she said. “He’ll be back on Christmas, though. We won’t do anything big, though, but you’ll help me in the kitchen, right?”

“Of course,” he said. He’d always been the kitchen helper on holidays, and for some reason, he’d always enjoyed it.

She looked around the room. “Is it too cold in here for you?” she asked. “I can get you another blanket.”

“It’s fine,” Sherlock said.

“Work all right?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “We’ve had some cases.”

“I know -- I’ve been reading about them,” she said. She paused for a minute. “You didn’t want to bring John along?”

He looked over. “Bring him here? Why?”

“Well, you know, it’s the holidays . . .”

“And . . ?”

“And I just expected you to bring him along,” she said. “Has he gone to see his family?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Sherlock said, thinking. Did John say he was going somewhere? “I think he’ll be at the flat.”

His mother looked over him and smiled softly. “All right,” she said. “I’m just glad you have a friend.”

Sherlock wasn’t quite sure what that look or comment meant, so he took a long sip of tea.

She recognised that maneuver, so she stood up from the bed. “Rest up. When you come downstairs, you can make a fire for us before your father gets home.” She smiled. “Glad you’re here,” she added and then left.

Sherlock set the mug down, leaned back at the bed, and looked up at the ceiling.


	3. Working Apart

The next thing John knew he was waking up startled, his body having slipped from sitting up on the couch to falling onto the cushions. The flat was dark and the light of the telly wand flickering in the room. He sat up and stretched out his soreness. He turned off the telly and moved through the flat in the dark. He was heading for the stairs when he noticed the time. He thought it was the middle of the night but it wasn't -- it was the next morning. He slept through the night on the sofa.

Instead of continuing up the stairs he turned towards the window and fully opened the curtains to let the light into the flat. He turned and looked around the room. The place needed to be cleaned up and this was the time -- without Sherlock adding to the mess at the same time. He moved around the room and took pictures of some things he wasn't sure how to dispose of, sending them to Sherlock. Then he started cleaning and organising everything he could get rid of. He turned on the radio while he worked, keeping his phone close so he could hear if Sherlock replied.

____________________________________

“Put on your father’s coat,” Mrs Holmes said. “It’s cold out.”

“My coat’s sufficient,” Sherlock said, even though he knew it wasn’t.

“It is not,” his mother said. “It’s too long -- you’re not in London now. We don’t take stupid chances here.” She handed him the coat and watched him put it on. “Very handsome.”

“Have you got proper gloves?” his father asked. “You don’t -- here, take these.”

They headed outside. “It’s been a while,” his father said. “Do you remember how to do it?”

“I believe you take the ax and chop the wood,” Sherlock said. “Or has it become more complicated in recent years?”

“I think there’s an app, but we’re old school here,” his father said.

Sherlock found himself laughing out loud. “Have you been drinking?” he asked.

“Just enough to volunteer to go outside in the cold to chop wood,” his father said. He motioned to the wood pile. “Let’s do a bit to take into the shed to dry so we don’t have to do this everyday.”

Once they got to work, Sherlock actually enjoyed it. He’d been quite stationary since he’d arrived -- sitting, reading, and sleeping. It was good to move around, especially in the crisp air.

“You bring cigarettes?” his father asked.

“Obviously,” Sherlock said.

They moved the chopped wood into the shed. His father said, “Let’s take a walk.”

Once they were out of sight, Sherlock lit a cigarette and handed it to his father. He lit another for himself.

“We thought your friend might be joining us for the holiday,” his father said before coughing a little.  
  
“Who?”

“Your friend, the blogger, the doctor,” his father said. “Don’t you live together?”

“His name’s John,” Sherlock said. “Everyone seems quite interested in him.”

“We were hoping to meet him,” his father said. “Everything going well with all that?”

“We’ve been getting cases,” Sherlock said.

“Well, we’re just happy you’ve found your place,” his father said. “We weren’t worried or anything -- we’re just happy you’re happy.”

Sherlock thought for a moment. Was he happy? He couldn’t imagine saying it, but he didn’t feel compelled to argue.

When they went back into the house, his mother appeared with two cups of tea and some biscuits.

“Your phone made a noise while you were outside,” his mother said.

“What?” Sherlock said, instinctively reaching for his pocket. He was surprised to find he’d left it upstairs. “It could be a client,” he muttered as he went up to get it.

It wasn’t a client, though. It was John, and Sherlock was glad. He wouldn’t admit it, but he missed him. The messages, however, annoyed him.

_Why are you around my things? SH_

_I'm cleaning. Keep or not? -JW_

_Keep all my things. SH_

_On second thought, throw away anything with mould. SH_

He smiled to himself -- why not let John take care of that for him?

_That's already done. Disgusting, by the way, I can't believe I was conned into living with you in this state. -JW_

John took another photo of the pile of things he'd been compiling while waiting for a reply from Sherlock.

_Are you honestly telling me I should report every accidental spill or miscalculation to you? Those things happen rarely admittedly, but I was unaware that you needed to be told about every mishap. SH_

Sherlock examined the photo.

 _The blue things can go straight into the bin bag. Are you wearing gloves? S_ H

_I'm not wearing gloves. If anything happens to me, I have informed my solicitor to charge you. -JW_

Sherlock wasn’t sure if he should be worried about this or not. His first instinct was that he should be, but in truth, he wasn’t. Obviously he trusted John. Unusual, but certainly not the first unusual thought he’d had since he first met John.

_If you’re finished shouting at me, I’d like to ask how your day has been. SH_

_Oh. It’s been busy, as you can see. How is your day going? -JW_

_Fine. Was just out in the cold, chopping wood with my father. Small callous in one hand, but otherwise, no mishaps you’ll be happy to hear. SH_

_You were chopping wood? -JW_

_Yes. It’s the only type of destruction I’m allowed here, so I didn’t want to pass up the chance. SH_

_I knew there was an ulterior motive. -JW_

_Don’t judge -- you may have tricked yourself into believing all you’re doing is cleaning, but maybe you’re just hellbent on destroying my things. SH_

_Don't be so dramatic. Everything here is fine. Nothing is destroyed. -JW_

_Don’t believe you. Once you’ve erased my presence from the flat, how do you plan on spending the rest of my time away? SH_

_I think I'll start seeing clients, take a crack at solving some cases. -JW_

Sherlock thought for a moment.

_That’s an excellent idea, just don’t get in over your head. SH_

_It’s no fun teasing you if you don't fall for it. -JW_

_I don’t fall for things, you should know that by now. Besides, doing some actual work might give you some insight into my life and perhaps you’ll be a bit kinder to me in the future. SH_

_I don't know what you're talking about. I am always kind. -JW_

Sherlock smiled to himself. John always was kind. At first Sherlock had found it annoying, but it had grown on him a little.

_I suppose that’s true. Annoying but true. SH_

_Hmm. I guess that's the nicest I'll get you to be to me. I'll take it. -JW_

_I took you in. That was nice of me, wasn't it? SH_

_That's not a favor, Sherlock. I pay rent here just like you. -JW_

Sherlock stared at the message. He had only been joking, but now John seemed angry at him.

_Well, then I guess you will enjoy your few days of freedom from my cruelty. SH_

He dropped the phone and went to the bathroom to wash his face before doing back downstairs.


	4. Something's Off

Sherlock’s parents were in front of the fire already, so he sat down and picked up the mug his mum had set out for him.

"Was it a case?" she asked.

"No," Sherlock said. "Just John."

"What's wrong? Did you have an argument?"

Sherlock wasn't quite sure how she knew as he was trying very hard to keep his face neutral. "No," he said. "He's just annoyed with me even though I'm not even there."

She took a sip of tea and let him sit with that for a moment. Finally, she said, "Perhaps he just misses you -- sometimes people get confused about their feelings."

"Which is why feelings are stupid," Sherlock pouted.

She gave him a smile and said, "I know not even you believe that anymore, Sherlock. Let's finish our tea and then we can put up the tree."

____________________________________

John was standing in the middle of the room with his phone, waiting for a reply. Nothing was coming and each minute he waited felt like an hour. 

_I was teasing. Of course I am happy you picked me to be your flatmate -- your friend. -JW_

_Sorry. -JW_

John put his phone down and sighed loudly. "Fuck . . ."

"John! What kind of language is that?"

John turned and saw Mrs. Hudson carrying a tray with food. "Sorry. I was just texting Sherlock but it got a bit . . .messed up."

"What do you mean?"

John shrugged. He looked at her surprised face when she saw she could actually put the food on the table now. Then she sat down with him and waited. John sat down and pulled the food closer. 

"I thought we were joking, teasing each other about stuff but now he won't answer me and I think he's angry."

"Teasing? Sherlock doesn't do teasing. Does he? I've just never seen that, John. Does he do that with you?"

"I thought so. We have before, I think."

"Interesting . . ."

"It’s not, really. We live together so I would see more sides of him that anyone else."

"Well yes John, I know that," she said suggestively. John rolled his eyes and focused on the food she brought. "Maybe call him later. He doesn't pick up on things very well in person, maybe he misinterpreted your messages."

John nodded. "Yeah, maybe I will try that if he doesn't answer."

She patted his arm and got up to leave. John leaned back in the chair and looked around the much tidier flat. Something heavy was sitting in his chest -- he didn't like thinking Sherlock was mad at him. He also didn’t like thinking of Sherlock feeling confused. Sherlock hated that and John hated the idea he’d contributed to it. Ever since he moved in, people seemed to be surprised with how much Sherlock had taken to John. John didn't think much of it, but if that were true John didn't want to mess it up. He finished eating and kept his phone close, hoping Sherlock would write back soon so they could sort this out.

____________________________________

Sherlock did not enjoy having his face stuck in pine needles as he and his father held the tree until his mother deemed it was perfect. And he did not enjoy stringing up lights and ornaments and hearing his mother retell every story from his childhood. However, he did kind of enjoy seeing his mother’s enjoyment of the whole process. His parents had helped him a lot in life -- forgiven many of his faults -- and he, of course, was grateful.

His mother made a small dinner which they ate together at the table and then the three of them read before the fire. It was a quaint sight in the room, and for some reason, Sherlock didn’t mind it that much. He had no crime to investigate, no case to work on, so he might as well let this be a restful break.

However, it still seemed odd that John was not around, and this was a slightly confusing feeling. Obviously, Sherlock was aware that change was not always easy, but somehow it seemed bigger than that. He remembered the text argument and that ruined his mood a little. He excused himself and went up to bed.

He didn’t pick up his phone until he was already under the covers with the lights out. He was relieved to see John’s apology, but the feeling of unease didn’t quite leave him. He wished he was still at home and everything was as it had been. Or maybe he wished John was here, even though that didn’t really make sense to him just yet. 

He texted back an apology and said good night. He turned off his phone and tried to go to sleep.

____________________________________

John saw Sherlock's message in the morning. 

_It’s okay. Call me when you can. -JW_

He looked around the flat as he made breakfast, his phone in his pocket so he could hear if Sherlock called. Everything was so quiet. He didn't like it very much. He took his breakfast to the desk and started looking through the blog, taking notes on possible cases that he could tell Sherlock about.


	5. Christmas Eve

In the morning, Mrs Holmes knocked at Sherlock’s bedroom door.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” she said in a sing-song voice. “Father Christmas comes tonight.”

Sherlock made a grumble and rolled over. “Not interested,” he called back.

“Can I open the door?” she asked and then opened the door. “I need your help. Get up.”

“For what?” he asked, opening one eye to peek at her.

“Preparations -- I don’t know . . . gift wrapping, peeling potatoes, doing something pleasant for once since it’s Christmas, please,” she said. She sat down on his bed. “Sure you don’t want to invite John?”

“Why? Are there that many gifts that need wrapping?”

She scowled. “Fine, I’m just trying to be nice. Perhaps you could try it?” she said, getting up. “There will be a cup of tea ready for you in five minutes. Come get it.” She left.

Sherlock rolled back over and stretched in the bed. He reached for his phone and saw John’s text. He was glad John wasn’t angry anymore. He hit reply and thought for a moment.

_It’s Christmas Eve. SH_

Then he dragged himself from the bed and got dressed before heading downstairs.

Sherlock didn’t really wrap any gifts. Instead, he just handed his mother small pieces of tape and listened to her gossip about people he didn’t know. It was boring but not difficult. Later he did peel potatoes, which was also boring but more difficult, and then when his father came in, he listened to him gossip about other people Sherlock didn’t know.

“I think the two of you need to get hobbies,” he said as he got up to make them some tea.

“What’s that supposed to be mean?” his mother asked.

“Nothing,” he mumbled, getting out three mugs.

“I’m sorry our lives aren’t as fascinating as yours is,” she said, drying her hands on a tea towel. “What do you and John do all day that keeps the precious Sherlock entertained?”

“We work on cases,” he said.

“That’s work,” she said. “What about when you’re home, not working?”

Sherlock thought for a moment. Being at home with John was a hundred times more interesting than being here, but for the life of him, he couldn’t really think about what they did together. “Here,” he said, bringing their tea over to the table. “Stop harassing me. I’m taking mine outside while I have a cigarette.”

When Sherlock came back in, he went upstairs to his room. He checked his phone and saw a message from John.

_We have a lot of cases when you come back. When will that be? Boxing Day? -JW_

_Sorry, I left my phone upstairs. It probably won’t be until the weekend. Why? Are you planning on having company for Christmas? SH_

_No. But I was missing_

John stopped and bit his lip. He erased that and started again.

_No. Mrs Hudson misses your playing holiday songs. -JW_

_I doubt that is true. And please don’t remind me of that as it’s the one Christmas thing my mother has yet to force me to do. SH_

_Perhaps I’ll call your mum. I could listen to you play over the phone. -JW_

Sherlock thought about his mother’s offer to invite John.

_If you’d like to come be with my mother, I’d be happy for you to take my place. SH_

_I can't play as well as you. -JW_

_Perhaps, but you can cook and be nicer than I’ll ever be. SH_

_I'm sure your mum prefers to have you there instead of me. -JW_

_She probably does, but she can't stop talking about you so she's clearly a fan. SH_

_I think you're going more mad than I would be. -JW_

_Why are you home anyway? I expected you to be out enjoying your freedom from me. SH_

_‘Enjoying freedom' makes it sound like I am trapped here normally. -JW_

_I think you might have actually used the word trapped before. SH_

_It’s been different without you here. -JW_

_How? -SH_

_A lot of things. It’s hard to explain. -JW_

Sherlock thought for a moment. This visit home had felt different to previous ones, and he was pretty sure it was because John was in his life now. He thought he’d feel better if John were here with him. That seemed silly -- since John had never been here with him, so clearly it was not about the place but about John. Why? John was right actually: it was hard to explain.

_Try. SH_

John looked around the flat and thought for a moment before typing out his reply. 

_It's quiet, but not the temporary kind like when you're off working a case. Its more . . . real. Heavy. -JW_

S _ay more, please. SH_

John looked at the message and bit his lip. He looked around the flat, at Sherlock's empty chair. 

_It’s boring. You brought a lot of excitement into my life_

John wrinkled his nose and hit the backspace. 

_It’s boring. I miss our cases. -JW_

Sherlock smiled. Everyone knew Sherlock’s thoughts on boredom, and he had to agree that since the moment John walked into his life, things had definitely not been boring.

_I miss you, too. SH_

John smiled. 

_I do miss you. -JW_

_Good. SH_


	6. Christmas Day

Sherlock woke up quite early on Christmas morning. He couldn’t hear any noises downstairs, so he stretched out and just lay there for a little while. The bed wasn’t as big as the one at home, but it was comfortable. He decided he wanted to talk to John, but before he picked up the phone, he realised  John was probably still sleeping. There wasn’t really a reason to wake him.

____________________________________

John woke up the next morning and took a moment to process the silence. Last year Sherlock was playing music at this time. He sighed and got out of bed. He knew Mrs Hudson would be up soon, and he didn't want her to find him lying around still. He took a quick shower and went down to start the kettle. 

_Happy Christmas. -JW_

John sent the message and left his phone on the table as he went down to see Mrs Hudson with an extra mug of tea. 

____________________________________

Sherlock had drifted back to sleep when he hear his phone vibrate. He smiled at John’s message and sent back the same before dragging himself from the bed and going into the bathroom. He decided to shower and get dressed before going downstairs. When he went into his kitchen, his mother was sitting at the table with a pot of tea.

“Morning, Sunshine,” she said. “Happy Christmas.”

Sherlock poured himself a cup. “Yes, you too,” he said. He took a long sip.

“Did you sleep well? Santa’s reindeer didn’t wake you, did they?”

Sherlock gave her a little sarcastic smile. “Slept quite well actually,” he said. “Where’s Dad?”

“I decided to let him sleep in,” she said. “We’re not in any hurry today, right?”

“I suppose it depends on my brother,” he said.

“He’s not coming,” she said. “Please don’t smile or complain. I don’t precisely know why he’s not coming -- you know how he talks in circles, and I wasn’t in the mood to fight him. It’s all right.”

“Are you disappointed?” Sherlock asked.

“A little,” she admitted. “But I suppose it doesn’t matter. You’re here and it’ll be a lovely day.”

Sherlock took a sip of tea. “Yes,” he said. “We’ll have a lovely day.”

____________________________________

John was downstairs in Mrs Hudson’s flat. "Do you need help with anything?" he asked.

"Not at all, dear. The roast is in the oven, I am just keeping busy. Have you opened any fun presents?"

John shook his head. "I'll call my mum in a little while, but we've not exchanged gifts for a long time."

"Sherlock didn't get you anything?"

John shrugged. "He didn't leave anything behind, and he didn't say anything. I got him a servicing kit for his violin, I hope he'll like that."

"Well, that's very thoughtful, John. I'm sure he got you something, too."

John smiled softly and sipped his tea as she did the dishes. He hadn't expected any kind of gift -- Sherlock barely remembered to eat half the time, he doubted Sherlock would have taken time to get a present for him. But that didn’t matter. Sherlock would be back soon enough and they would be back on their cases -- that's what John really wanted. 

____________________________________

Sherlock did his best to hide his pleasure at his brother’s absence. He helped his mother with some kitchen-related tasks and then offered to bring in some wood from outside. Before going in, though, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Then he pulled out his phone.

_If you’re free, you can call my brother to join you. He’s not here. SH_

_Ew. I would rather have you here. -JW_

_But I’m here. He’s not. And to my mother’s dismay, neither are you. SH_

_Just enjoy your time with your family, the ones you like. -JW_

_Don’t be stupid. SH_

_I'm being serious. -JW_

Sherlock frowned. Why couldn’t John understand what he was saying?

_Fine. You’re making me say it. You know very well that you’re the one I like. That admission is your Christmas gift. I’ll return the other one. SH_

John smiled at his phone. He felt a slap on his arm with a towel, and he looked up to find Mrs Hudson looking sternly at him.

"You haven't heard a word I've said to you!"

"I'm sorry. I’m just chatting with Sherlock," he said. He looked back down at his phone, still smiling. 

_Look at you being sweet. What are you returning? -JW_

For some reason, that reply made Sherlock feel better.

_Never mind. What’s the point? Clearly I’m unappreciated at home. SH_

_Let's get back to what you're going to return. -JW_

Sherlock thought for a moment.

_There’s a gift for you in my third drawer. You have permission to retrieve it, if you’d like. SH_

John stood up and headed for the door. 

"John? John! Now where are you going?" Mrs Hudson hurried after him, swatting his arm with the dish towel again. 

"What? Oh, sorry. Sherlock said he has a gift for me upstairs and I want to see it," he said. 

She looked at him for a moment before waving him forward. She followed him out and up the stairs. "It’s in his room? He told you to go in there?" 

John nodded before continuing on. He pushed open Sherlock's door and peered inside. He didn't know what he expected, but his room looked very ordinary. He crossed quickly and opened the drawer, grabbing the wrapped box before coming out again. As he walked back to the sitting room, he tried to figure out what it might be -- he wondered if it might be a jumper, but it was also kind of heavy. He sat in his chair and started to open it, Mrs Hudson standing nearby to watch. 

When he finally opened the box, he froze, unable to take his eyes off of it. It was a briefcase--or rather a medical bag. It was soft leather, a deep brown colour, with his name stitched into the front flap. It was a gorgeous thing. He looked away only when he heard a noise from Mrs Hudson. She was crying softly, wiping her eyes with the rag she'd hit him with. 

"John! It’s lovely . . . I've never seen Sherlock be so sweet," she said. 

"I . . . it’s just a bag," he said. "With my name on it." He said it without any real conviction. It was an amazing gift -- very personal and unique. 

"Mmhm, of course," she said. "It’s not just a bag, John, we both know that." She got up and left him alone.

John hummed as he heard her leave. He got his phone and opened a message to Sherlock. 

_I don't know what to say. Thank you. -JW_

____________________________________

When Sherlock’s father had come down, his parents bickered over what time it’d be best to eat. Sherlock offered to bring in wood. Eventually, the house had calmed down. His parents had gone upstairs to “finish getting things ready,” which Sherlock knew was code for taking a nap. He was in his father’s comfy chair in front of the fire with a nice cup of tea beside him. He’d intended to read the book sitting on his lap, but had actually got a little lost in the soft crackle of the flames and the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree. So much so that the vibration of his phone left him startled for a moment as if he’d be abruptly woken from a dream.

He hadn’t been sure about the gift for John -- in truth, he hadn’t been sure if he should even buy a gift at all, but he was very pleased to see that John had liked it. 

_I’m glad you approve. Is your Christmas over now? SH_

_It’s barely started. I'm sure yours isn't over yet. -JW_

_My parents are currently sleeping. We haven’t eaten yet and apparently Father Christmas has skipped our house. SH_

_I'm sure he hasn't forgotten you. -JW_

_Perhaps he doesn’t want to encourage my poor behaviour. SH_

_Maybe he's bringing your present here. -JW_

_You think because my trip was unplanned, he wasn’t able to get the delivery changed in time? Where’s your faith Christmas magic? Are you being an Ebenezer Scrooge? SH_

_He can only do so much, you know. Give him a break. -JW_

There was something about John’s defense of Father Christmas that made Sherlock smile.

_I presume you’ve had carols on the radio all day since I’m not there to be bullied into playing for you. SH_

_I'm actually trying to learn to play my own on your violin. I hope you don't mind. -JW_

_Is that an attempt at humour? SH_

_Did it work? -JW_

_Not quite. SH_

Sherlock heard movement upstairs. It was probably time to exchange gifts and then eat. He looked down at the text conversation and realised he actually did wish that John had come with him.

_I miss you, I suppose. I wish you were here. SH_

John bit his lip and smiled, leaning back in his chair. He looked over at Sherlock's empty chair and sighed. 

_I miss you too. Maybe I can come next year. -JW_

“Sherlock! We need you in here!” his mother called from the kitchen.

_Maybe. SH_

He hit Send and set the phone on the table next to him. He grabbed his mug and headed into the kitchen.

“What do you need?” he asked.

“Should I make some snacks to eat while we open gifts?”

“Of course not -- it’s not going to take hours and we’ll be eating after, won’t we?” Sherlock said.

“Fine,” she said grumpily, grabbing his mug from his hand. “Let me make a pot of tea and then we’ll start, all right?”

Sherlock glanced over at his father whose look told him Sherlock’s answer had been the wrong one. “On second thought,” Sherlock said. “Maybe something small might be nice.”

She didn’t turn away from the kettle but said, “Fine, I’ll put something together if you insist. Actually, I got something special for you from the French market -- let me see if I can find it.” She moved over to the fridge and pulled out a cheeseboard with some holly as garnish in each corner. “Oh, here it is,” she said, reaching for some crackers.

His father smiled at Sherlock in thanks.

“Looks good,” Sherlock said. He filled the tea pot and picked up the tray, following his parents back into the sitting room. He set it down and nipped upstairs to grab his parents’ gifts. When he came back, there was a cup of tea and a small plate waiting on the table next to a chair. There were two gifts on the seat. He shifted them and sat down. He spread some cheese onto a cracker before popping it into his mouth. It was delicious actually, so he said that aloud. His mother smiled and stayed smiling as they opened their gifts.

____________________________________

John had grabbed Mrs Hudson’s present and returned to her flat.

"Oh, remembered me, have you?" she teased.

"I never forgot you. I just wanted to send a thanks to Sherlock," he said. 

"That was a thoughtful present he got you," she said, taking the present from John and setting it aside. 

"Don't you want to open that?" he asked. 

"What did you get Sherlock?" she asked instead of answering. 

"A servicing kit for his violin," he said. "Not quite as personal but I think he'll like it."

She nodded. "He never gets presents like that, John. Last year, he brought me a scratch ticket. I think you should think about that."

"I don't know what you want me to think about. I liked it. I told him I did," he said. He could tell he sounded a bit defensive about it, and he didn't know why. What was she trying to make him say?  

She seemed to get the hint. She opened her gift, and then he helped her serve dinner. They ate together and chatted about safer topics. When they were done he helped clean up and then headed back upstairs. He sat in his chair and put his feet up, admiring his bag again. It really was a nice gift. Mrs. Hudson's voice was in the back of his mind, nudging him towards something more. 


	7. Christmas Night

Sherlock was full and tired when he finally headed up to bed Christmas night. He had eaten almost all of the cheese his mother had bought him and then managed to eat quite a bit at dinner as well. It had tasted good and, though, he’d never admit it to anyone, it had brought back nice memories of his childhood. He climbed into his bed after midnight and turned out the light. 

He was relatively sure that Mrs Hudson and John’s celebration had ended hours ago and John could already be asleep. Still, he sent a text.

_I hope I’m not waking you. SH_

John shifted and looked away from the show he was watching. 

_No, I haven't gone to bed yet. -JW_

_I’m in bed. SH_

_How was your Christmas? -JW_

_Fine. Long. I ate too much. I will probably be fat when I see you again. Let me know if you’d rather I not come back in this condition. SH_

John laughed and shook his head. 

_Don't be stupid. When are you coming home? -JW_

_Why? Are you planning something fun there without me? SH_

_I'm just wondering, that's all. -JW_

_At some point after I lose this weight. SH_

Sherlock wasn’t sure why he was being so silly. He had a brandy with his father, but that wasn’t enough liquor to affect him like this.

_At the weekend maybe. I don’t know what my jailers have planned over the next few days. SH_

_I think you are being a bit dramatic. -JW_

_Perhaps I am. Do you mind? SH_

_I'm used to it. I like it. It’s exciting. -JW_

_Did you just spell annoying incorrectly? SH_

_I mean it. I can honestly say I am never bored. -JW_

_I know sometimes I say I am, but I’ll let you in on a little secret: I’m never bored with you, John Watson. SH_

_I'm going to let you know a little secret: I worry about that a lot. -JW_

_Why? SH_

_You like exciting things. I'm afraid it won't be long before you realise I am not at all and kick me to the kerb. -JW_

John turned on his side a bit, shifting to lie on the sofa like he had when Sherlock first left. He was glad it was dark and he was alone in the flat. He didn't think he could have ever admitted  this in person. 

Sherlock wondered if that was really true. He tried to imagine John in the flat. Was he in bed or in his chair? Suddenly, it seemed strange not to know precisely where John was.

_You needn’t worry about that, John. I will never let you go. You are helpful and kind. One of those things I was expecting, one I wasn’t. But both I’ve got very used to. SH_

_Which one weren't you expecting? -JW_

_The kindness. Not that you are kind -- that was immediately obvious, but that I appreciate it. SH_

_Oh. Well, I suppose that's nice. -JW_

_And what has surprised you about me? SH_

_There's too much to type out. -JW_

Sherlock smiled. It was too much to type out . . . every thought of John was so big in Sherlock's head right now. He wished he could head home right now to see him, but it was late and cold out, so then he considered just offering to pay for a taxi to bring John here, but that seemed equally ridiculous. Perhaps he should just simply blame the thoughts on what his mother called 'the holiday spirit', but deep down he knew John had changed him.

_Fair enough. I appreciate I've been to blame for quite a few surprising situations since we first met. SH_

_The smiley face in the wall is a good witness to that. -JW_

Sherlock remembered that day. He was relatively sure he'd remembered every day.

_I'll let you go, I suppose. Don't do anything you'll regret tonight. Santa's still watching -- don't start the next year being naughty. SH_

_I think that's the advice I should be giving you, Sherlock. -JW_

_Don't forget I'm highly supervised here. You're the one who has pure freedom right now. SH_

_Hmm. You're just trying to make me believe that -- where do you have the cameras? -JW_

_You know I trust you too much to spy now, John. SH_

John bit his lip and smiled down at the phone. 

_Is that so? -JW_

_Yes, it is so. Don't misuse it, all right? SH_

_I promise. You can trust me, remember? -JW_

_I do. Trust you and remember. SH_

_Good. I'm going to sleep, now. I miss you. I hope you come home soon. -JW_

_I miss you too, John. I'll see you in a few days. SH_

Sherlock set his phone on the nightstand and rolled over in bed, pulling the covers up to almost cover his face. He did miss John. Much more than he'd expected to.

John plugged in his phone and shifted to get comfortable. He was thinking about the present Sherlock got, the conversation they had been having, and how different the flat felt without him here. Mrs Hudson's words were needling his brain as he tried to fall asleep. But he knew Sherlock too well to think he was pining for John, dropping hints about his feelings being more than friends. John couldn't do anything drastic and risk ruining what they had here. 

And what kind of drastic thing would he do anyway? The thought that he would plan something at all took him by surprise. He shifted again and punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape. He wasn't going to do anything. He was going to sleep and keep his mouth shut and everything would go back to normal when Sherlock got back.  


	8. Change in Plans

When Sherlock woke up the next morning, he could hear his parents were downstairs already. He rolled over and looked at the clock, expecting it to reveal that he'd slept too late. But it didn't -- it was had just gone seven. Why were they up so early? Then he realised he needed the toilet so he got up to go and then headed downstairs.

"There's tea," his mother said as he walked by. He made a grumble and went to the kitchen to pour himself a cup. She followed him. "If you want to ride with us, you'll need to be ready by nine."

"All right," he said and took a long drink of tea. Then he looked up at her. "Ride where?"

"Home," she said. "We can drop you off on our way."

"On your way where?"

"Sherlock, wake up properly -- this conversation is annoying me," she said, fussing with something in a drawer.

"Where are we going?" he asked, giving his head a little shake as if that would help him understand what was happening.

"Your father and I are going to Paris," she said.

"And where am I going?"

"Home," she said impatiently. "I thought you knew all this -- didn't your brother explain?"

"Obviously he did not," Sherlock said. "Why are you going to Paris?"

"Why does anyone go to Paris?" she said. "It's the city of romance after all . . ."

Sherlock screwed up his face and then buried it in his cup.

She sat down next to him. "I'm sorry for being grouchy -- your father is frustrating me, you know how he gets before trips." She pulled his cup from his hands and took a sip. "That's why we wanted you boys here -- we planned this trip and wanted to make sure we got to celebrate with you."

Things were starting to make sense to him now. "All right," he said, taking back his cup. He glanced at the clock. "I can be ready to go in time," he said.

John woke up and heard Mrs Hudson moving around the kitchen. He didn't want to talk about the things that had tried to keep him up all night. He waited until she was gone before getting up to shower and start his day.

Sherlock helped his parents carry their bags out to the car. "Are you going for a month?" he asked as he climbed into the car.

"Very funny," his mother said. "You know I like to be prepared. Shall we play a game on the drive?"

"I don't think we need to," Sherlock said, trying to get comfortable with his own bag in back.

"You're no fun," she said, settling in herself. After a few minutes of silence, she said, "I spy with my little eye someone who has greatly changed over the last year or so."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. So, it wasn't a game she wanted, it was a talk. "All right," he said. "I'll play along. Is it Dad?"

"No," she said.

"Is it that man in the lorry that just passed?"

"No," she said, turning a bit in her seat. "It's you." She reached over the back and handed him an envelope. "Please give this to John from us."

He took it from her and set it on his bag. "What is it? A cheque? Have you two been paying him to tolerate me?" he asked.

"I don't think he tolerates you," she said, turning to the front again. "I mean, I think he does more than tolerate you."

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm disappointed he wasn't able to come along," she said. "Did you invite him?"

"I didn't invite anyone -- I didn't have time. Mycroft kidnapped me," he said.

"I wish the two of you would . . ." she said. "Regardless, I wish John had been here with us."

"Why?" he asked, genuinely curious. "Why have you become John Watson's biggest fan all of a sudden?"

"It's not sudden," she said. "It's just . . . I want to get to know him better now that you two . . ."

Sherlock waited for her to finish, but she didn't.

"Now that we work together? Live together? What?"

"Now that you're . . . friends."

Sherlock picked up the envelope and considered whether or not he should open it before giving it to John. "We are friends," he said softly for no reason.

"I know, son," she said, turning her head to give him a smile. "I can see that you are happy."

He looked out the window and didn't say anything else.

John found the breakfast Mrs Hudson had left for him, and he felt a pang of guilt for having ignored her. But the thought of trying to dissect what he was feeling with her -- he couldn't do it. He didn't understand it himself yet. He didn't want to be pushed in a certain direction, and he didn't think he could stand her smug smile when he admitted that she might be right. Because she was, wasn't she? Something was different now. When had that happened? He pushed his food away and got up, pacing back and forth in the sitting room. He kept glancing at the bag Sherlock had given him. 

How many people tried to tell him things were different? Mycroft was the first, half of the police squad made jokes about it, Mrs Hudson was saying it almost everyday. John was the first one allowed on Sherlock's cases, the first one he'd called his friend, the first one he'd bought a sentimental present for . . . could that really be true? Sherlock had brought so much excitement to his life -- fixed his leg and pulled him out of his loneliness and gave him something to focus on besides his own miserable situation. And he wasn't miserable anymore. Not since he moved in with Sherlock. Why didn't he see this before? 

He needed to talk to Sherlock. He couldn't keep going on without knowing for sure. He would phrase it as Mrs. Hudson's theory and see what the response was. Then he could judge from there if he should admit anything else. 

Sherlock decided to ride with his parents all the way to his aunt's house, where they left their car. He shared a taxi with them to the station to help his father unload their bags and then had the taxi drop him at a coffee shop not far from the flat. He stood outside and smoked a cigarette and then went in for a cup of tea. He got out his phone.

_Are you at home? SH_

John jumped a bit when the phone buzzed in his hand. He'd been so lost in his thoughts that it startled him a bit. He took a deep breath and, instead on texting back, he hit the dial button. 

Sherlock's phone buzzed.

"John?" he answered.

"Hi," he said. "I'm home," he added. 

"Good," Sherlock said. "Right . . . and how's your day going? Are you doing something with Mrs Hudson?"

"No," he said. "I just got up a little while ago. What are you doing?"

"Just having a cup of tea," Sherlock said. For some reason, he wasn't quite sure he should come home just yet. Was something going on with John?

"Oh. Should I let you go?" John asked. 

"No," Sherlock said. "I wanted to talk . . . I'm not busy, I mean."

"Oh good," he said. "That's good. I don't want to bother you."

"I don't want to bother you -- should I talk to you later? Are you busy?"

"I'm not busy. No. I just . . . I wanted to talk to you, I guess."

Sherlock's stomach felt funny. He took a long sip of tea. "Well, we can talk," he said. "Did you need to tell me something?"

"I . . . not specifically," he said. He was pacing the sitting room again. This was harder than he expected.

Sherlock got up to get another cup of tea, but there was something in John's voice that worried him.

"John, are you all right? Is something wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing is wrong. No," he said. "I . . . I really like your gift," he repeated. "Mrs Hudson was saying a lot about it."

Instead of getting tea, Sherlock picked up his bag and headed outside for another cigarette. He still wasn't sure what was happening. John's voice sounded different to him, even though his words didn't seem worrying.

"Good," he said. "Was she angry I didn't have something for her? Did you get her a gift?"

"She wasn't angry. Just surprised. She said it was . . . you know, sentimental," he said. "It surprised her."

"I thought you liked it?" Sherlock said.

"I did! I liked it a lot. But she's right, you know? And I thought . . . it just made me think."

"I don't understand what's wrong," Sherlock said. He threw down his cigarette butt and started walking.

"Nothing is wrong. She just got in my head," he said.

"John, is something else going on? Your voice . . . I don't understand. Has she upset you? Have I?"

"No! No. I'm not upset. I've just been thinking," he said.

"About what?" Sherlock asked, rushing across the street.

"How come . . . I mean . . ." John tried to get his thoughts together. "Why me? Why am I different?" 

"Why what?" Sherlock said. Then he stopped on the pavement, taking a moment to put things together. "I don't know why you're different, John," he said. "But you are."

John stopped pacing. He'd expected Sherlock to say he wasn't. What did this prove? He licked his lips. "Look Sherlock, I have to tell you something and if you want me to move out I can be gone before you come home from your mum's."

“John, what is happening?" Sherlock said. He felt panicked but his feet were frozen on the pavement.

"I've been thinking and I feel . . . I mean . . ." John took a deep breath and swore softly. "I love you." For a second he didn't hear anything then he hung up the phone in a panic.


	9. Home

Sherlock stood there stupidly on the street, trying to make sense of the last few minutes. Then he tried to make sense of everything his mother had said to him during his visit. He was trying to make sense of everything.

A teenager bumped him as he passed, swearing at him. Sherlock swore back and then started walking. He walked all the way back to the flat, unlocking the door and stepping inside. At the bottom of the stairs, he looked up toward the door. He dialed John's number and started to climb the steps.

John jumped when the phone buzzed in his hand. He didn't answer, just staring down at the phone. He'd messed up. He shouldn't have said anything.

Sherlock opened the door and stepped inside.

John turned at the sound of the door, the phone falling from his hand. "Sherlock! I thought . . . why are you home?" 

Sherlock dropped his bag and set down his phone. He walked over to John. "I know why you're different, John," he said. "Because I love you, too."

John stared up at him, letting the words he'd just heard play in his head over and over again. "You? Oh . . ." he said. He moved closer, traced and then held Sherlock's jaw before tugging him down gently and kissing him. 

Sherlock let John kiss his mouth. He slid his hands around John's waist, pulling him tighter. The sense of relief -- of being home -- felt so good. He tipped his head to deepen the kiss. "I don't like being away from you," he said softly, pulling John even closer. "I need . . . to have you by me."

"I missed you . . . I missed you a lot," John said.

"We're different," Sherlock said, his voice a whisper. "We belong together."

John nodded and kissed him again, softer, over and over. Sherlock slid a hand up John's back and gripped the back of his head. He dropped his mouth to his neck and sucked on the skin. It was almost like he recognized the taste.

"Sherlock," John moaned, tugging Sherlock's shirt out of his trousers to work the buttons open.

Sherlock was surprised for a moment, but an urge took over -- an urge to be closer to John, an urge to explore this difference. He dropped his hand to John's waistband, sliding his fingers inside. John moaned a bit louder, pressing flush against Sherlock. 

Sherlock slipped open the button on John's jeans and undid the zip. "Can I touch you?" he whispered in John's ear.

"Yes," John moaned, pushing Sherlock's shirt back to get it off. 

Sherlock's hand found its way into John's pants. He wrapped his fingers around John's now hardening cock which was warm against his skin. "I've never touched you here," he said, just holding him for a moment. He sucked John's earlobe into his mouth and concentrated on every sensation he was feeling.

John tipped his head back as a proper moan slipped through. "Sherlock . . ." he breathed, raking his hands down Sherlock's bare torso to work at opening his trousers too. 

"Should we . . . lie down?" Sherlock asked tentatively.

John nodded. "Yes please . . ." He murmured.

Sherlock moved them over to the sofa, pushing the pillows to the floor. He sat down, toed off his shoes, and then took off his trousers. He quickly lay down. "Come on," he said quickly. He suddenly felt a little embarrassed and wanted to get back to kissing which felt much better.

John moved away long enough to lock their door--he didn't need Mrs. Hudson coming up unannounced like she had been. He came back to the sofa and pushed off his own jeans, followed by his shirt, before he lay beside Sherlock. He felt his cheeks flush now that they had a moment to pause and really think about what they were doing. His eyes moved over Sherlock's face but he didn't want to think about it too much. He just wanted more. He leaned and kissed Sherlock's mouth. 

Sherlock turned on his side and wrapped his arm around John to bring their bodies closer. He was filled with a relaxed tension -- the ease of being home again balanced with an intense desire that he’d not felt in so long. His hand slipped to John’s arse, pulling on John’s pants slightly, before reaching around the front. He held John’s cock again. It was softer but still warm and he began to slowly move his hand over it as they continued to kiss.

John deepened the kiss, moaning as Sherlock touched him again. His own hand palmed Sherlock through his pants.

“Feels good, but . . . will you touch me?” Sherlock mumbled.

"Maybe I like teasing," he murmured, smiling against Sherlock's lips. He pushed the soft cotton out of the way and gripped Sherlock's cock properly, stroking slowly.

Heat flooded through Sherlock’s whole body. It was like he’d been hit with an electric shock, John’s touch was almost too much. He followed John’s rhythm as he stroked him, trying to move even closer.

John swiped the tip of Sherlock's cock and used the precome as a bit of lube, stroking faster. "Do you like that?" he asked, his voice mostly breath. 

“Yes, God,” Sherlock said, his voice a soft moan. It feels so good . . . you feel good.”

"You too . . ." He dipped down and kissed Sherlock's jaw and neck, moaning loudly.

Sherlock’s hips were rocking now against John’s hand. He did his best to keep moving on John as well, though he could feel his muscles coiling in need of relief. He leaned in and kissed John’s mouth roughly.

John's free hand slipped into his hair and tugged softly as he kissed back, his hand moving faster. "M'close . . ."

Just the thought of doing this with John, seeing him in this moment, was enough to push Sherlock over the edge. He let himself go, letting his hand move in the rhythm of his own hips rocking on the sofa.

John looked down, moaning at the sight before he let go and came with Sherlock, moaning his name.

“John,” Sherlock said softly, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close. “God, I missed you -- I feel like I missed this even though we’ve never done it before.”

"I missed you too," he said, his eyes moving over Sherlock's slightly flushed face. 

Sherlock gave him a quick kiss and then said, “Should we get up? We’ve kind of made a mess of ourselves.”

"In a little bit," he said, closing his eyes for a second to get his breathing to a more normal rhythm. 

Suddenly Sherlock felt exhausted. It was a mix of being away, of being confused, and of this, of course, which had probably been confusing him for the last few months but he just hadn't known yet. He snuggled in a little against John's body and closed his eyes. "I'm glad I'm home," he sighed.

"Let's go to your room," John said. "We can sleep there for a bit.”

"All right," Sherlock said. He waited for John to move and then pushed himself up on the sofa, getting redressed. He stood and grabbed his bag which he dropped by the bed when he got into his room. "I'm going to get undressed," he said unnecessarily. He stripped off his clothes and quickly slid under the covers.

John followed Sherlock, in just his pants. "Me too," he said. He pushed off his pants and almost got into the bed. "I should get something for us to clean up with first," he said. 

"Okay," Sherlock said. "Can you bring a glass of water back as well?"

"Yeah," John said. He went to the kitchen and got that first before getting a couple small wash cloths and coming back to the room. 

"Thanks," Sherlock said, taking a long drink. He used the cloth to wipe up his belly and then snuggled under the covers again. "Come get close to me," he told John. 

John smiled and climbed into bed. He scooted close to Sherlock and looked at him. 

Sherlock smiled at John’s look. "When did you know?" he asked. "That this is what you wanted?"

"I don't know. I just didn't like that you were gone and I missed you so much," John said. 

"I didn't like being away from you either," Sherlock said. "But I don't think I knew this is what I wanted until you kissed me."

"What did you think when I told you I loved you?"

"I just knew that's what it was, what made us different," Sherlock said. "Because you love me and I love you back."

John smiled and tucked into his shoulder. "She's not going to let me live this down," he sighed. 

"Who?" Sherlock asked.

"Mrs. Hudson, she's been saying it for days.”

"What? That you love me?"

"Yeah. Not in those words exactly," John added. "But yeah. And that you love me."

"Outrageous," Sherlock said. "Despite being right, she shouldn't have made assumptions." He looked closely at John's face. "Do you think it's been obvious?"

"I don't know. Doesn't it seem like a lot of people knew? Hinted?" John asked. 

"That reminds me," Sherlock said. He shifted on the bed, reaching down to try to grab his bag. He couldn't reach it so he sat up properly and lifted it to his lap. He unzipped it and pulled out the envelope his mother had given him. "Here," he said, handing it to John. "My mum was so obsessed with you, she gave me this."

John took the envelope, shifting to sit up and see it a bit better. 

“Does it say something horrible about me?”

John opened the card and read the short message. _Thank you for making our Sherlock so happy._ John smiled softly and closed it back into the envelope. He leaned over and kissed Sherlock. "Not at all."

“Did she know then?” Sherlock asked.

"Seems like it," he said. 

Sherlock picked up the envelope and read his mother’s message. “So everyone knew except us?” he asked.

"So it appears. But maybe we did, in a way," John said. He shifted and settled down again, tugging Sherlock to join him.  

“We do run a consulting detective business,” Sherlock said, snuggling in. “And we figured it out eventually, so that’s another case solved, I suppose.”

“Hmm. I'll write it up tomorrow. The Detective and His Blogger," John laughed. "Or something like that."

Sherlock smiled. “Let’s leave that for a bit,” he said, pinching John’s arm a little. “Let’s just be us here at home for a while.” 

John squirmed and grabbed Sherlock's arm, placing it around him instead. "Okay. Good idea," he said. 

“It is good, John,” Sherlock said. “As long as we're together, it’s always good.”


End file.
